There’s a B&N store in my work building, which is usually awesome cuz I can drop by before work or during lunch. Even more awesome cuz I can cut through the street entrance to the building entrance. I used to do it all the time. Used to.

Then the B&N security guard started getting really friendly. It started off with a bland good morning, then a hi, then asking about my weekend. All normal stuff like any other acquaintance conversation, and I thought he was an ok guy. Then he started going out of his way to see me. If I’m wearing a hat, he’ll duck to see my face and catch my attention. Or he’ll see me from down the hall and wave hi. A little creepy, but I thought he was just being friendly and over eager.

Then one day on my way to lunch he saw me and asked if I would pass back that way. I said yes. When I came back he was cornered me (as much as you could corner someone next to a table of books) and said “I didn’t see you for a while.”
“Yeah, you know, sometimes I’m late to work and don’t get to pass through.”
“Yeah, I didn’t see you for a while and got worried so can I get your number?”

Wait. What?!

“Uhh, no,” I said, starting to edge away.
“Oh ok, that’s too bad. You’re taken?” A glance down at my left hand, which, thankfully, I had on a silver ring on my middle finger that could be been mistaken as a wedding band.
“Um, yeah.” I edged away and made my excuses. So much for being nice to a security guard.

Since then, I’ve been a chicken. I just don’t like the awkwardness. I now scout from down the hall to see what entrance he’s standing at. If i absolutely have to go inside, I whip out my phone and made like I’m looking for someone in a hurry. It sucks because the entrance is right in front of the only stairway down from the second floor. So, I became a more frequent customer of Borders and the other B&N that are at least 12 blocks away from work. Good thing I like walking.

So, after a couple months of successfully avoiding him and not seeing him at his usual post, i thought it was safe to browse the area near the entrance again. Not. As I looked at greeting cards, someone said hi to me. Crap. He stood guard in a totally different area than before. So we exchanged niceties and I went on my way to the register. When I left, there he was, at the back entrance as he used to, ready to say bye to me with a smile on his face. Creepy.

He’s still there sometimes. And I still avoid him.

–submitted by The Chicken–

My favorite story is a guy who picked me up, then when I refused to go home and have sex with him after the bar closed, he demanded I reimburse him for the drinks he had bought me.

Haha.

Sucker.

–submitted by kwh–

At least I think he was gay.

There are certain things that heterosexual males shouldn’t say to other hetero males. And he definitely crossed that line.

Flashback to this morning: I was jumping rope toward the end of my workout when this dude approached me and started talking.

I had my iPod on so I couldn’t hear him. I took them off and he repeated himself.

Suspect dude: Have you ever done any modeling?

Me: Nah. I haven’t.

He then tells me that he has a show coming up next weekend and that he’d like me to be in it.

I’m skeptical, but I ask him to elaborate.

SD: I’m XXXXXX. What’s your name, man?

I tell him my name and he continues.

“I’m having this show next weekend. It’s for males and females. We’re doing a cowboy-themed show, showing a lot of skin. I want the guys to wear cowboy boots…”

Did dude just say, “cowboy boots”? C’mon, dog.

All I could picture were dudes walking across a stage in leather chaps, cowboy boots, and cowboy hats…and nothing else!

I cut him off after cowboy boots.

“I can’t do THAT kind of modeling, man.”

SD (sensing that I’m becoming skeptical): Nah, man. The women are gonna be wearing the same stuff. Showing a lot of skin. It’s gonna be more erotic than my usual shows. A lot of skin…cowboy boots.

I tell him again that I’m not down for that.

SD: You have the body for it (he says as he looks at my chest). You just don’t have the mind for it yet (as he points to his temple).

I don’t have anything for that shyt, mutherfukker! LOL.

At that moment right there, I decided it was time to get this dude the hell away from me. I wish I were mean so I could tell him to get the fukk out off my face with that bullshyt. Instead I tell him that I’ll take his card and call him if I want to do some of his “other” shows.

A few minutes later, he gave me his card and bounced.

Stuff like this only happens to me. I swear.

–submitted by V.D–

I bullshyt you not.

So I’m riding the Green Line train to work—like I do every morning. While the ride home after work can be kinda wild at times, the ride to work is usually pretty chill.  Most of the time I have a seat to myself and I can kick back and read the daily Redeye newspaper to catch up on current events (Ted Kennedy formally endorsed Barack Obama, Bush gave his LAST State of the Union address [thank God!], and how Britney has “mental issues“).

After I finished today’s paper, I got into my book, Rules of the Game. As my stop approaches, I toss the book in my bag and put my on coat (it was hot as hell on that train).

When it stops at the Randolph Street station—the one right before my exit—this crazy-lookin’ dude gets on. I’ve seen this muhfukka previously.  Maybe once or twice before.  He’s older.  If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his late-30s to early-40s.  He’s kinda bummy.  His clothes are worn down.  He’s flabby, not in shape at all. A little shorter than me.  He looks like a cracked-out black version of Doc Brown from the Back to the Future movies.  Dude usually gets on the train and stares at me.

Lookin’ all crazy and shyt.  Like he wants to say something.  It really creeps me the fukk out.  Today was no different.There are a bunch of empty seats on the train, but dude conveniently chooses to sit in the seat directly in front of me—like a foot away.

“How you doin’?” he says with that crazy look in his eyes.  I nod my head. Dog, it’s completely awkward. Thank God the next stop is mine. I adjust my trench coat and put on my Zune headphones as I get up and walk toward the door—and away from dude.  But out of the corner of my eye, I see him standing up.  He’s approaching me—again.  This time he reaches in his pocket for something.

Awww lawd! Why me, dog? He pulls out a balled-up piece of paper and hands it to me.  I unravel it only to have my worst fears confirmed.Not only is it his name and number—but he put his address on that muhfukka too. On an old Illinois lottery ticket.What THEE fukk!!!!!  At this point I’m completely taken out of my game. I have no idea how to handle the situation. I know the few people on the train have to be looking at us.

Probably laughing. I’m embarrassed.  I can’t look dude (his name is Will; he lives on the south side) in the face.

All I want to do is get the hell off the train, go to work, and proofread some medical ads. Is that too much to ask?

As the train pulls into the station, I finally get the nerve to look Will in the face.  He’s looking right back at me—with the craziest smirk on his face. He nods his head approvingly as if he’s saying, “Call me, dog.” When the doors open, I take the humbling walk of shame off of the train.In the aftermath of this horrific event, a couple questions came to mind: Why did Will have his name, phone number, and address already written out? Did he intend to give it to the next dude he wanted to bone? Or did he have it saved specifically for me—hoping he’d run into me on the train again?

When I got to work I showed a couple of my co-workers. The first thing they asked me: Why did you take the number?That’s a valid question. I didn’t have to take it.  I could have just stole on his punk ass when I figured out what he was up to.  Or I could have cussed him the fukk out for disrespecting me.  Or I could have simply asked him why he thought I was a homosexual.  But I ain’t do none of that.  I guess I was too scared to take a stand.

Now I have to adjust my train schedule in the morning so I don’t run into that muhfukka again.‘Cause I shudder to think what’ll happen if I see Will again.

–Submitted by vondarrien–

I was taking the E train late one night with a female friend of mine. We were
talking pretty loud since the trains are noisy. We were talking, laughing, acting
silly, and having a great time.

Then, a man around his 50s approached us and asked my friend “do you have a boyfriend?” My friend nodded her head. As he was turning towards me, I smelled alcohol in his breath.

Since he was rejected by my friend, he began to ask me if I had a boyfriend. Even though I didn’t have a boyfriend, I wasn’t interested in talking to this drunk man so I lied and said I had a boyfriend.

Creepy!

–Submitted by Athia–